


Mugglewear and Broomstick Skills

by gracie137



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Getting Together, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Humor, Inappropriate Erections, M/M, POV Harry Potter, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Semi-Public Sex, like seriously the worlds worst gym outfits (or best), the worlds worst gym outfits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 09:06:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12187053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracie137/pseuds/gracie137
Summary: The eighth years attempt a game of football in Muggle Studies. What is meant to be an insight into Muggle sports turns into a fashion show of ridiculous outfits and Harry nearly losing his mind.





	Mugglewear and Broomstick Skills

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fest and as per usual with me what was meant to be short and sharp, turned into waffle... This fic is entirely me amusing myself so I really hope you enjoy it!! This cocks n joggers fest has been a blessing, a literal blessing and I love you all.  
> Thank you to aibidil and shiftylinguini for being amazing betas and tolerating my lack of grammatical understanding. And an even bigger thankyou to unadulteratedstorycollector for running - Cocks N Joggers: https://cocksandjoggers.tumblr.com/  
> Once again enjoy!!

Harry had completely understood and supported McGonagall’s decision to make Muggle Studies a compulsory class for all Hogwarts students from first years to seventh years.

He had agreed to act as the spokesperson for Muggle Studies whenever wizards tried to suggest that they didn’t _need_ to understand Muggles. It was a lack of understanding of Muggles that caused wizarding society to become so withdrawn from Muggle society. It was a lack of understanding of Muggles that had allowed people like Voldemort and the Death Eaters to believe in their own superiority. A lack of understanding of Muggles had caused enough problems in Harry’s lifetime and he was more than happy to support a cause that would remove that pain from his arse.

Harry had also fully supported the hiring of Professor Bradley, a Squib, to educate the wizards on what it was really like to live without magic. Bradley, who understood the wizarding world and its practices, could explain it in a way no Muggleborn ever would be able to.

For the first term, Bradley, had been fantastic. He had introduced Muggle Studies in a fun, engaging way that forced even purebloods like Ron who had never harboured any prejudices against Muggles to rethink everything they believed. They had covered electricity and the wonders of Muggle television and film; Muggle fashion; a brief overview of Muggle history and how it was entwined with wizarding history; and Muggle transport, including anxiety-inducing trips around London learning to use the tube, buses and taxis. Harry didn’t think he would ever get over the joy of watching Zabini’s haughty face stricken with fear when faced with a taxi.

The Slytherins, after a tentative first few weeks, had thrown themselves into Muggle Studies. Parkinson and Zabini discovering a love of Muggle fashion and demanding to know why wizards still walked around in robes. Nott set up a Hogwarts baking society with Goyle that had flourished and become a place that students struggling with memories of the war could go to distract themselves in a _judgement free zone_ for an hour or so a couple of times a week.

Ron had rated Goyle’s Red Velvet cupcakes a seven on the scale of Kreacher to Molly Weasley, which was extremely high praise. Harry had dubiously tried Nott’s treacle tart and had to say it nearly rivalled the Hogwarts elves’ own.

Muggle Studies had gone down as a bigger success than anyone could have anticipated and even Draco Malfoy was doing his best. Whilst not campaigning for the introduction of Muggle fashion to Hogwarts uniform (Pansy and Blaise had made badges) or coming up with plans to open a Muggle/wizarding bakery. Malfoy was polite—if not too docile for Harry’s liking—and appeared to be doing his best to unlearn everything he had been taught by his shithead father.

So with the success Muggle Studies Harry had been thrilled when at the beginning of the Easter term, Bradley had announced they would be moving onto Muggle sport. Although he was not quite as thrilled as Dean, who had been waiting years to show Ron and Seamus the perks of football.

Harry had always liked sport as a child even if he was always picked last in PE class because of Dudley’s gang. He was fast – because of all of his practice running away from said gang – and he had naturally quick reflexes that had been honed by years as a Seeker.

Pulling on a pair of baggy shorts that left his knobbly knees horribly exposed, Harry stared at himself in the Gryffindor boys’ changing room. He hadn’t been sure what on earth he was supposed to pack when the owl had arrived at the Burrow with a letter from Professor Bradley informing all eighth years to make sure they brought appropriate ‘Muggle’ workout gear for the next term, which had called for a shopping trip to Oxford Street.

Harry wasn’t sure he would ever laugh as hard in his life as he had at the sight of Ron decked out in an Adidas orange tracksuit in the Sports Direct changing room to continue his support for the Cannons. Harry loved his best mate more than anything, but orange was not Ron’s colour. Thankfully, Hermione had managed to convince Ron to get the blue one after a long squabble about Hermione not understanding what the Cannons truly meant to Ron. Harry didn’t want to know what Hermione had had to say to get Ron to back down but he had a feeling it had involved threats of withholding sex.

“I feel I look like an idiot.” Neville sighed as he pulled on a red sweat band.

“Nah mate, you look sound, trust,” Seamus grinned as he lunged in a pair of nylon red and gold shorts that if you asked Harry fell slightly too short on Seamus’s skinny, pale legs.

Neville snorted, “I can’t trust you whilst you’re wearing those.”

“You’re wearing tights!” Ron said.

“They’re spandex leggings,” Neville sniffed. They were indeed spandex leggings… spandex leggings that left very little to the imagination and whilst Neville might have lost his puppy fat during the war, Harry had never wanted to see that much of his friend.

“They’re tights,” Ron repeated.

Harry shot Dean a grin and Dean, who was decked out in West Ham football gear, tried and failed to hide his laugh by coughing into his hand.

Thankfully, they were saved from having to explain to their blissfully naïve wizarding friends just how fucking stupid they really looked by the short, sharp sound of a whistle. The Gryffindor boys traipsed out of the changing room and down onto the Quidditch pitch with Neville and Ron still squabbling over whether or not Neville was wearing tights.

Harry had to bite his lip to stop himself laughing as Hermione, who was of course dressed sensibly, shot Ron’s tracksuit another exasperated look. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who were decked out in colour co-ordinated workout clothes, complete with matching pink leg warmers, took one look at Neville’s leggings and Seamus’s shorts and doubled over laughing.

“Has anyone seen the Slytherins?” Bradley asked, bouncing across the pitch to them all. Bradley was a small man of probably no more than five foot five with a receding hair line and enough energy to power all of Europe. He just never stopped, he was always buzzing and ready to go. Harry had never met the human version of an excited puppy until he met his new Muggle Studies Professor but now he could say he had. However, in Bradley’s defence, it was probably this energy that helped Muggle Studies become such a hit at post-war Hogwarts.

“Probably sorting their hair,” Seamus shrugged, causing the Gryffindors to laugh. Whilst the Slytherin and Gryffindor rivalry was no longer anything like it was prior to the war, the two houses always took the opportunity to rib each other.

“Thank you, Seamus, now does anyone have a useful suggestion for where Slytherin might be?” Bradley repeated, a small smile playing at his lips.

“We’re here!” announced Parkinson’s eternally bored sounding drawl.

Harry knew he couldn’t be the only one whose jaw dropped as they turned to greet the Slytherins.

The first thing he saw was Goyle in a neon tracksuit—and Harry wasn’t sure he would ever recover from the sight. It was blinding, terrifying and wonderful all at the same time. He eventually managed to track his eyes off of the florescent yellow mess that was Goyle to take in the rest of the sight.

Pansy Parkinson looked like she had walked straight out of a Hollywood high school movie in tiny black cropped shorts with an equally non-existent pink cropped top exposing an ample cleavage and belly button piercing. Harry had to double take at that because: one, Parkinson was not meant to be attractive but there was no denying that her figure was hot, and two, when the fuck had Parkinson pierced her belly button?

A loud cough sounded and Harry turned to see all the Gryffindor girls glaring at the boys. Harry ducked his head and grinned as Ron turned bright red, he was glad he wasn’t the only one who had been quite clearly ogling Parkinson. Harry had forgiven her for trying to hand him over to Voldemort at the beginning of the year when she confronted him to ‘smooth out any tension’, which was understandable as Harry had taken to fleeing every time she walked into the eighth-year common room. He was less forgiving of her years of torment of Hermione, but when she wasn’t being a straight up bitch, he had to admit he kind of liked Parkinson’s cutting remarks.

“Please remember this is a games lesson and not a cat-walk,” Bradley sighed as Parkinson strutted over in her platform sketchers and over the knee socks.

“Everything is a catwalk if you try hard enough,” Pansy said, shooting Neville a terrifying smile. “Nice leggings, Longbottom.”

“Thanks,” Neville squeaked.

Bradley shook his head, “And where is the rest of your house.”

“Blaise was just doing up his joggers,” Goyle said.

Harry didn’t have time to question it as Zabini appeared a second later in a pair of snap joggers and a tight fitting tank top. Zabini was annoyingly fit. Of course, Zabini was wearing snap joggers, the overdramatic prick.

“Draco’s just coming, Sir,” Zabini drawled, winking at Parkinson.

Bradley nodded. It was quite obvious that Malfoy made Bradley uncomfortable with his sharp tongue and Death Eater past, which was understandable given Bradley’s Squib status. Bradley wasn’t the only one who was uncomfortable with Malfoy. A lot of the school avoided him.

“Right, so today, class, we’re going to start with what is probably the most well-known Muggle sport,” Bradley paused, “Football!” He said, waving his hands dramatically.

Dean whooped.

Bradley grinned at them all, his smile not wavering at the blank wizarding faces. It wasn’t that Harry didn’t think football was a decent game, it was just quite hard to get excited over in comparison to sports like Quidditch.

“Also, may I just say that you all pass your holiday homework with flying colours!” Bradley said, bouncing up and down on the spot. “Whilst perhaps slightly more on the outlandish side of workout gear, these are all outfits that would be accepted by Muggles!”

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets and grinned at Dean and Hermione.

“So are we all cooking with gas then?” Bradley said, clicking his fingers and jumping up and down. There was nothing about Bradley that wasn’t entertaining—from his strong Northern accent, to his boundless energy, to the fact he was five feet five, to his never ending bizarre sayings. “I was thinking we’d be beginning with a warm up, a couple of laps around the pitch.”

“You want us to run?” Zabini asked, his normally blank face contorting with horror.

“Muggles don’t have brooms, Blaise,” Bradley laughed. “You’ll be doing a lot of running in these lessons.”

“I have a stitch at the thought,” Parkinson said, “I think I need to lie down.”

“I’ll escort you to the hospital wing,” Zabini said.

“That’s not the spirit,” Bradley said, blowing on his whistle, “Now where is Draco?”

Everyone turned towards the Slytherin boys changing room just in time to see Malfoy emerging. Harry felt his jaw hit the floor.

He had accepted during the summer after the war that he was attracted to boys as well as girls, there was something about being killed by a genocidal maniac that helped you put your priorities in order. Harry had spent a lot of time getting drunk in Muggle clubs over the summer and kissing different boys and girls; finally getting to be a normal teenager. Well, a normal teenager who was a wizard, should have died twice and had fought in a war at the age of seventeen. The usual.

What Harry had not been expecting was to return to Hogwarts to find that an attraction to boys also came with an attraction to Malfoy. Well, not an attraction to Malfoy per se because Malfoy was still a git. It was more an appreciation of Malfoy’s sharp cheekbones, elegant features and pink mouth. Malfoy was quite nice looking when he smiled. Harry had caught him smiling a few times in the common room and it always softened his pointy features. Draco Malfoy was nowhere near soft and Harry wouldn’t want him to be soft, but Malfoy had a nice smile. He had tried mentioning it to Ron, but Ron had one, accused Harry of staring at Malfoy and two, had to take himself off to bed because he was laughing so hysterically.

Draco Malfoy was wearing grey cotton joggers and a long sleeved white cotton top. Draco Malfoy was wearing _joggers_. Draco Malfoy was also wearing his chin-length hair in a topknot and light up trainers, which flashed with every step he took. Harry wished he could appreciate the sight of the trainers more, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the joggers.

“See something you like, Potter?” Parkinson purred and Harry felt his cheeks inflame as he tried to drag his eyes away from the sight of Malfoy sauntering towards them all wearing grey joggers. Grey joggers.

“Nice trainers, Malfoy,” Harry managed to force out, the joke weak and brittle as he tried to get his flushed skin under control.

Malfoy glared at him, pale skin showing off his blush, “Shut up, Potter.”

“I bought them for him,” Parkinson bragged. “And the trackies.”

“Which are awful, I hate you.”

“They’re not awful,” Harry blurted out before his stupid brain could engage with his even more stupid mouth.

“I’m sorry?” Malfoy said, his brows shooting up.

Harry felt himself begin to resemble a tomato. “Well, I mean they’re very Muggle…” He trailed off, feeling everyone’s eyes on him. He should have stayed dead.

“I see,” Malfoy nodded, wearing his _Potter is an idiot_ expression.

Thankfully Bradley sent them running laps before Harry could embarrass himself further. Making sure to sprint ahead so he couldn’t stare at Malfoy’s stupidly pert arse, Harry let himself think.

Harry was an idiot. However, Malfoy was wearing grey joggers! Grey joggers that if Harry looked close enough showed off outlines of Malfoy that would have had third year Harry running and screaming for cover. Harry was an eighth year now and had to tear his eyes away because he shouldn’t be staring at what must be an outline of… of well, Malfoy’s cock.

Was it perverted to stare at Malfoy’s cock outline? He’d stared at Parkinson’s tits, was that perverted too? Hermione always lectured them about how tits and vaginas weren’t the same level of private part so did that mean it was okay to stare at Parkinson’s tits but not Malfoy’s cock? Or should he stare at both to show that he was really was the feminist he hoped to be? Should he stare at neither?

“You okay, mate?” Ron hissed, jolting Harry from his thoughts with a sharp elbow to the ribs.

 _Yeah, I’m fine, just having a semi-life crisis over here about Malfoy’s cock outline and his stupidly perky arse, don’t worry about me. All is good. All is swell in fact, never better_ , Harry’s sub-conscious chattered stupidly.

“Fine,” Harry nodded as he fell into step beside his best mate.

Harry and Ron had started running together during the holidays when they had been unsure if they were going to enter into the Auror programme instead of going back to Hogwarts, because Robards had offered them a position without NEWTs. Robards had said if they had been able to take down Death Eaters and Voldemort without NEWTs, he didn’t see why they would need them to become Aurors.

Eventually, Kingsley had stepped in as interim Minister for Magic and requested that, even as celebrated war heroes, Ron and Harry return to Hogwarts for one final year so they can join as properly qualified Aurors. Harry didn’t mind, the idea of having one year at Hogwarts free of old Voldy was a nice thought—even if he was now being plagued by Draco fucking Malfoy and his cock outline.

What had Pansy Parkinson been thinking?

Harry knew exactly what Parkinson had been thinking as he caught her ogling Malfoy’s arse when Bradley made them all stretch out after their laps. And no, Harry did not only catch her staring because he himself was staring…

“Right, who wants to be the team Captains?” Bradley asked, forcing Harry to stop staring at Malfoy’s arse.

“Harry and Dean know football,” Seamus suggested.

“I know how football is played too,” Hermione said, raising a sharp eyebrow that had Seamus swiftly stepping back to cower behind Neville.

“Equality, folks,” Bradley laughed, clapping his hands together. “Do you want to be a Captain, Hermione?”

Hermione blanched. “No thank you, it was just the principle of the matter.” Harry snickered; Hermione hated sports.

“I don’t see why it should be two Gryffindor Captains,” Malfoy said, raising his pointy chin and catching Harry’s eye defiantly.

“Do you even know how to play football, Malfoy?” Harry said.

Malfoy shrugged and crossed his arms. “Well if you can play it, anyone can, I imagine.”

“What, because you’ve always been able to match me at sport have you? How many times did you catch the Snitch again?” Harry asked, grinning at the familiar scowl on Malfoy’s face.

“Shut up, Potter.”

“Good come back there, Draco,” Zabini drawled.

“Shut up, Blaise!” Zabini raised an elegant brow and Malfoy’s scowl deepened. “I said shut up!”

“He didn’t say anything,” Goyle said innocently and Malfoy flushed again.

“Harry and Draco as team captains then!” Bradley cheered, “A healthy dose of competitive spirit should make this more interesting.”

Everyone gave Bradley a look. Even Harry would confess that he and Malfoy had never quite mastered the _healthy dose_ of competition side of things. They were fantastic at being competitive but not in a healthy, friendly and banterous manner.

“You haven’t even taught us the rules,” Pansy protested.

Bradley just smiled, “It’s pretty easy. We’re going to be playing seven-a-side, leaving a couple of subs on each team. Once we’ve picked the teams, I’ll tell you the positions and we’ll go from there.”

“How many balls are there?” Bulstrode asked.

“How ever many you want.” Seamus leered.

Bulstrode fixed him with a fierce look that had Seamus cowering again. “I don’t want to know what mutation you’ve got down there.”

“There is just one ball and you can’t use your hands,” Bradley explained, as if he hadn’t heard them.

“Perfect for you then, Pans,” Harry caught Malfoy mumble. Harry had to bite his lip to stop himself laughing.

“I thought sucking on balls was your area of expertise?” Parkinson whispered back with a sweet smile.

Harry choked. Malfoy had sucked balls? If Malfoy had sucked balls then that meant he had sucked dick. And if it was an area of expertise of Malfoy’s then that meant he had done it more than once. And if Malfoy had sucked dick more than once that meant he was into boys. And if Malfoy was into boys that meant he could be into Harry. And if Malfoy was into Harry that meant Harry would be able to see under those joggers! Of course, this all relied on two crucial points: one, that Parkinson was being serious and not just teasing Malfoy and two, that Malfoy didn’t think of Harry as a scrawny, speccy prat.

Ron’s arm thumped Harry on the back and he managed to stop choking.

“Sorry, swallowed a bug,” Harry mumbled, before wishing he had just said nothing when Malfoy’s nose wrinkled in disgust. There was no way on earth Malfoy found him attractive. Harry suddenly felt very self-conscious of his knobbly knees.

“I’ll take you to the hospital wing if you need, Potter?” Zabini offered, clearly desperate to get out of having to run more.

“I don’t think Harry needs to go to the hospital wing, a good game of football is what he needs,” Bradley nodded, blowing his whistle again, this time in Harry’s ear. Harry was going to Reducto that whistle if Bradley wasn’t careful. “Right. Harry, Draco, pick your teams.”

“I pick Thomas,” Malfoy said before Harry had even opened his mouth to ask who would get to pick first in the chivalrous way he had been planning to. Fucking Slytherins. First of all, Malfoy had the audacity to turn up in joggers that showed off his cock, which had fucked up Harry’s brain enough, then he had the audacity to possibly be into boys, fucking up Harry’s brain further, and third and possibly worst of all, Malfoy had had the audacity to pick the best football player of the lot.

Harry wasn’t sure why that one was the most offensive on the list but it was. His natural instinct to make everything with Malfoy a competition had kicked in.

“Why should you pick first?”

“Because I just did.”

“That is awful reasoning!”

“I don’t see any flaws in my logic.”

“Of course, you don’t, you ginormous—”

“Ginormous what?” Malfoy interrupted.

“Ginormous cock.” Harry scowled and against his own will his eyes were once again drawn to the bulge in Malfoy’s joggers. Harry flicked his eyes back up, cheeks red as he realised what he had done. Not that the bulge was _ginormous_ but it was a decent size and right there in Harry’s eye line. Well, in his eye line if he looked down straight at it but how was he meant to avoid it… It was just… Malfoy was frowning at him and _oh my God_ had Malfoy caught on that Harry was checking out his cock?

Bradley blew the whistle again and Harry and Draco both spun around to glare down at him. “Do I need to make someone else Captains, boys, or can you be civil?”

“I can be civil,” Malfoy sniffed. Ron snorted and Malfoy glowered at him. A few strands of white hair had fallen free of Malfoy’s top knot and now framed his face.

Why couldn’t Malfoy be ugly?

“I can be civil,” Harry said, refusing to look at Malfoy. It was safer that way. “I pick Ron.”

“Greg.”

“Seamus.”

And so on and so on until it was just Zabini, Parkinson and Hermione left. Hermione was glowering at Harry and Ron was starting to look vaguely afraid. Harry wanted to pick Hermione, he really did, but it was just that she had the hand-eye co-ordination of a Flobberworm. Parkinson had turned up in platform sneakers, so there was no way Harry was picking her. He was starting to regret his decision to choose Neville as well, but it had been him or Zabini, and he didn’t trust that Zabini wouldn’t be too afraid of breaking a sweat to run.

Malfoy was pulling a pained expression as he gazed between the remaining three. Malfoy didn’t know that Hermione had the hand-eye co-ordination of a Flobberworm, but he’d probably caught on—if Harry wasn’t picking Hermione first for something, it meant she wasn’t good at it.

“Granger,” Malfoy sighed eventually. Malfoy had apologised to Hermione very early on for everything he had done to her over the years and since then they had bonded over the discovery that they shared a mutual love of Potions and Arthimancy, and a mutual loathing of Divination. Ron had been outraged.

Hermione levelled her most terrifying look at Harry and he gave an apologetic smile in return. “Thank you, Malfoy.” Harry would be paying for that later when he asked her to look over his homework.

“I am your oldest and dearest friend!” Pansy huffed.

“Oldest and most irritating, more like,” Malfoy deadpanned, catching Harry’s eyes and smiling. Harry felt his own mouth tug up in an answering grin. Malfoy’s smile grew before he seemed to realise what he was doing and glancing away.

“I pick Zabini,” Harry said.

“You’re both sexist pricks,” Parkinson grumbled. “Can I just referee?” She said turning to Bradley.

“Don’t you want to play?” Bradley asked.

“I feel I’ll be most valuable to the game in a position of power.” Parkinson smiled.

Bradley frowned, “I suppose there are odd numbers so… very well then.”

Pansy grinned and held out her hand expectantly, “Can I have your whistle then?”

“Not the first time she’s said that I bet,” Seamus whispered in Harry’s ear.

“I bet no one has ever asked for _your_ whistle,” Bulstrode said.

“Do you not want my whistle?”

“Not if it was the last whistle on earth and even then, I’d rather die.”

Harry had a bad feeling about the game ahead if his team were turning on each other already.

Bradley explained a brief overview of the rules and set them up in a 1-2-3-1 formation that they would understand best as it mimicked a Quidditch team. A goal keeper, two defenders instead of Beaters, three midfielders instead of Chasers and one striker instead of a Seeker.

Harry put Ron in goal, Bulstrode and Neville as his defence, Seamus, Nott and Partavi as mids, and himself as striker. Malfoy, of course, set himself up as the opposing striker.

“Scared Potter?” Malfoy drawled as Bradley tossed a coin to see who would go first.

“You wish.” Harry grinned, grin growing when Malfoy’s haughty expression cracked into a grin of his own. Malfoy looked almost shocked to find himself smiling at Harry, but he didn’t stop.

 

Not that Harry would ever say it to Bradley, who looked utterly thrilled at how the game was progressing, but he was pretty sure that the football game would go down in the history books for being _the worst game of football ever played_.

The game had been doomed from the start when thirty seconds in Parkinson blew Malfoy up for standing incorrectly – she was evidently still bitter about being picked last. Harry was not let off lightly either, he was blown up twice for kicking the ball too hard and once for tripping over his own feet and endangering the lives of others. Harry had not appreciated Parkinson blowing him up for tripping over his own feet, which had caused Malfoy to laugh at him, especially when it was Malfoy’s fucking fault Harry had tripped anyway.

How was Harry meant to focus on the game when Malfoy was running around with _that_ bulge? _Malfoy_ should be pulled up for endangering lives. Harry had half a mind to tell Parkinson to pull Malfoy up for his dangerous bulge but that would mean pointing out that Harry was staring at the bulge (which he still wasn’t sure if he was allowed to do) and found it distracting. Harry had cock on the brain and it was all Malfoy’s fault. It was even worse that said cock was Malfoy’s cock. Malfoy was a fucking cock.

Harry passed the ball to Partavi and tried to think of Vernon in a pair of speedos but the image quickly slipped into Malfoy in a pair of speedos, all long legs, pale skin and sharp angles. He tried to picture Snape in the speedo, Voldemort in a speedo, fucking Kreacher in a speedo but every time the image faded until it was Draco Malfoy revealing what would be under those bloody joggers.

Draco Malfoy spread out on a bed. Draco Malfoy underneath Harry on a bed. Draco Malfoy’s cock. Harry’s mouth on Malfoy’s cock.

“Harry!” Ron yelled.

Harry spun around just in time to see Malfoy jog up past him after scoring a goal, blond hair falling loose from its top-knot and skin flushed.

“Do try keep up, Potter.” Malfoy laughed and all Harry could do was nod dumbly and cross his legs, glad he’d decided on baggy shorts. Muggle Studies was going to be the death of him.

By half time Harry was going insane. Malfoy had no business looking so good. No business at all.

Harry trudged over to his team, still reciting the pros and cons of an animagus form in his head. During the game, he had gone through: the rules of Quidditch, every member of the Weasley family and the ingredients needed and stages of creating Polyjuice potion.

“So,” Harry started, dragging his hands through his hair and shoving his glasses back up his nose.

“Where is your head, mate?” Ron interrupted. “We are losing to Malfoy!”

“We’re losing to the other team,” Bulstrode corrected.

“That Malfoy is Captaining.”

“Do you Gryffindors really spend this much time thinking about Draco? I thought it was just Potter,” Zabini drawled, glancing up from where he was inspecting his nails.

Harry opened and closed his mouth like a fish, “I do not spend all my time thinking about Malfoy!”

“Hey, Greg!” Zabini called, Malfoy’s team turned around from where they were huddled across the pitch. “Did Potter spend most of sixth year stalking Draco, or am I thinking of the other Chosen One?”

Harry wondered if it would be bad sportsmanship to murder one of his own teammates.

“He did!” Goyle called back.

“I did not!” Harry protested, his cheeks burning red. He didn’t dare look at Malfoy—sweaty and stupid Malfoy with his pink cheeks and long legs and joggers showing off his cock. Stupid Malfoy who kept smiling. Harry wanted to Vanish those joggers. His blush deepened when he realised what would happen if he Vanished the joggers. Malfoy would be naked. Harry shook his head. He couldn’t go down that thought path again; one boner a football game was his new rule. Or even better, no fucking boners per football game.

“I mean you kind of did…” Ron started as Harry spun around to glare at his official ex-best-friend. “Not in a weird way of course, you know you thought he was being sketchy and everything and you were right but…” Ron pulled an apologetic face, “You were a hint obsessed. A hint!”

“I was not!”

Parkinson sighed, “Don’t worry Potter, Draco dearest was equally as obsessed with you. Five years of my life gone to hearing him rant about _Saint Potter_ with his hair and his glasses and his scar. _Potter thinks he’s the best! Potter thinks he can do no wrong! Everyone loves Potter_!” Parkinson said in a rather spot-on impression of Malfoy.

“Good to know it wasn’t just Harry,” Ron mused. Harry ignored him.

“Don’t forget Potter’s broom skills!” Goyle called cheerily across the pitch. An outraged squawk sounded from Malfoy and Harry snorted.

“Urh, Potter and his fucking broom stick skills,” Pansy groaned.

“I did not— I would never-—I will kill you all in your sleep!” Malfoy yelled.

“Can you believe I fancied that idiot?” Pansy drawled as Malfoy continued protesting.

“You always did have awful taste,” Bulstrode said over Malfoy.

Bradley blew the spare whistle he had managed to find. “Let’s focus on the game everyone. You’re all being fantastically Muggle today but let’s not get distracted!”

“Talk about my broom skills a lot, did you, Malfoy?” Harry couldn’t help but call over to the other team.

Malfoy blushed. “Only that I thought your tendency to show off was overcompensation for other areas where you were lacking.”

Harry laughed, “I can promise you I’m not lacking in any areas.”

“Is that a promise you can keep, Potter?”

A sharp whistle sounded and this time it was Parkinson glowering at them both. “I have never heard such disgusting flirting in my life. I have just lost precious years of my life because of you both. Motivate your teams and get back to the game in one minute.”

“I was not—”

“We were not!”

“Disgusting, how dare you?”

“Flirting? Me with him?”

“Never.”

“Stop!” Pansy snapped, glaring at them both and pointing a long finger between them. “If one more word that isn’t football related comes out of either of your mouths, I’m giving you detention!”

“Thank you, Parkinson. A quick reminder that you can’t actually give them detention, but I appreciate your enthusiasm for the match! Now let’s keep our heads in the game, folks!” Bradley cheered, still bouncing up and down.

“Right,” Harry said, turning back to his teammates and glowering at them all, “We’re going to beat Mal— them,” he corrected. Zabini snickered. “Zabini, you’re moving to mid and you’re going to run like your life depends on it. Bulstrode and Seamus, stop flirting, arguing, whatever you’re doing. Ron, remember you’re not on a broom and Parvati, don’t be afraid to aim for the shins and Lavender, maybe aim for the shins a bit less. Nott and Neville, you’ll come on later, but cheer for now and watch the other team like hawks. We ready?”

“Ooooh Potter, I like it when you take control,” Zabini said, rolling his eyes. “I see what Draco sees in you.”

“What does Dra—Malfoy see?” Harry asked, the words falling from his mouth before he could stop them.

Zabini smirked and shook his head. “Don’t you want to know.”

Harry stared at Zabini’s retreating head and wanted to die. He didn’t care what Malfoy saw in him. Harry did not give a single flying fuck what Malfoy saw in him. Except he did, he really did. He always had, in a way.

Harry turned to see Ron shaking his head. “Mate,” Ron sighed.

“What?” Harry said.

Ron sighed. “I just thought you had better taste is all. I mean, the ferret? Really? Really?”

“I don’t—”

Ron held up his hand, “Don’t get me wrong. He’s not as bad as he was and he’s the only one who can even begin to challenge me at chess – you’re crap – but still, really?”

“I—”

“I’m going to be a good friend and say I’ll support you, but really? Really?”

“I—” Harry tried to start for a final time as Ron walked away laughing.

Everyone was making out that he fancied Malfoy or something. He didn’t fancy him. He just thought he looked good in joggers and when he smiled. Sure, Malfoy could be pretty funny when he wasn’t being rude and he was actually really smart but Harry didn’t _fancy_ him.

Parkinson blew her whistle again. “Draco’s team gets kick back this time because his gym clothes are cuter than Potter’s. By the way, Potter, what the fuck are those shorts?”

“Language!” Bradley scolded.

“Sorry, but come on, Sir, look at them!”

“Malfoy’s wearing light-up trainers!” Harry protested as his team spread out behind him.

“I know, hence why he’s getting kick back and you’re not.”

Harry scowled at Malfoy’s smug smile but didn’t fight, he was catching on that people didn’t win fights with Parkinson.

“Your shorts are awful.” Malfoy smirked as he got ready to kick the ball.

“Better than your joggers,” Harry said.

Malfoy just smiled, a slow and easy grin that had Harry turn to mush. “For someone who hates them, you’ve spent a lot of time staring at them.”

Harry blushed. “Staring at them because they’re so awful.”

“Would you rather I take them off?” Malfoy asked with an innocent smile as he kicked the ball away from him.

Harry spontaneously combusted.

Harry was still recovering a few seconds later as the game played on around him and Ron started screaming at him from the goal. Malfoy had deliberately distracted him—the cheating bastard! The slimy git. Harry would show him. With that thought Harry threw himself into the game.

The game continued to be an insult to the good name of football as people started deliberately fouling and getting competitive at a sport none of them could play. Harry wasn’t sure what Bradley had expected, letting Slytherin and Gryffindor onto a sports pitch together.

“Zabini, run faster!” Seamus yelled as he kicked the ball up the pitch.

“These joggers do not allow for easy leg movement!” Zabini growled as he sprinted after it, joggers flapping around his legs.

“Take them off!” Pansy catcalled from the side, causing Lavender and Parvati to break down in giggles.

Zabini smirked. “I can’t say no to that,” and with a dramatic flourish of his hand, he grabbed at the waistband on his hip and _pulled—_ the snap joggers tore away to reveal a bright pink pair of spandex shorts that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Everyone lost it.

Harry doubled over in laughter when he spotted Malfoy trip over his own feet in hysterics. Ron curled up into a ball in the goal, his wheezing laughter heard across the pitch. Seamus and Bulstrode were leaning on each other. Pansy, Lavender and Parvati were not even pretending to not stare – which suggested it was acceptable for Harry to ogle Malfoy’s crotch. Hermione’s mouth had dropped open in shock.

“Fantastic Mugglewear, Blaise!” Bradley cheered from the sideline, “Twenty points to Slytherin for really getting into the spirit!”

It took about five minutes for everyone to recover from the sight and to stop laughing long enough for the game to go on.

As the game continued, Harry became increasingly aware that Malfoy was fucking with him. Harry had been about to tackle him when Malfoy had shifted his hips in such a deliberate manner drawing attention to _the bulge_ that Harry had faltered, allowing Malfoy to run off. The next time Malfoy had lifted up his shirt to wipe his sweaty face, revealing a lean chest—Harry had been too distracted to notice Ron pass him the ball. And the final straw had been Malfoy asking if Harry preferred playing with balls or with brooms. Harry was choking on his breath. Harry was going to the showers later to have a long, hard wank after this. Fucking Malfoy.

“Final two minutes!” Parkinson called eventually from the sidelines and Harry focused. They were tied, because luckily the sight of Malfoy in grey joggers didn’t turn the rest of Harry’s team to mush. It was just Harry that had turned into a blithering idiot.

Harry watched Malfoy dribbling with the ball and dragged his attention away from his arse and started sprinting after him. Harry was not going to lose to Malfoy again.

“I’ve been thinking,” Harry said as he caught up to the other boy, dropping his voice so no one would hear him.

Malfoy shot him a look of confusion. “The shock.” Malfoy, unlike Harry, clearly had not been going on summer runs and was panting heavily.

“I was thinking, as you’re so fascinated by my broom skills, perhaps you’d like some one-on-one tutoring some time?” Harry wasn’t sure what had come over him, but he knew that if Malfoy was going to play dirty all game then there was no way Harry was rising above it.

Malfoy’s jaw dropped and he tripped over his stupidly long legs. For a brief moment, Harry grinned triumphantly before Malfoy’s hand shot out and grabbed Harry’s shirt as he fell.

Harry let out a shout as he fell and threw his arms out to break his fall. He managed to catch himself just before he smacked into Malfoy’s face, the two of them a tangle of limbs as they panted on the floor.

“You cheat!” Harry exclaimed.

“You cheated first!” Malfoy proclaimed staring up at Harry.

Harry shook his head, “How did _I_ cheat first?”

Harry grinned as Malfoy flushed. “You said those things.”

“You said things first!”

Harry had never been this close to Malfoy’s face, never seen the dark lashes and almost silver eyes up close. Malfoy had completely blemish-free skin apart from what Harry presumed at this point were permanent dark circles under his eye and a faint white scar on his face. Harry had done that.

Harry had almost forgotten about the Sectumsempra incident until he’d caught sight of the smattered white scars that crossed Malfoy’s chest one day after an eighth year Quidditch match. He had apologised profusely and Malfoy had accepted; they had both done stupid things after all. Malfoy more than others.

Malfoy swallowed and Harry snapped his eyes back up to those grey ones. _Get the fuck off him,_ part of his brain screamed, but Harry couldn’t move as Malfoy shifted beneath him. Malfoy was beneath him. A thousand fantasies that Harry had had in this game crashed through his mind and Harry leapt off Malfoy before Malfoy could feel that Harry had been growing hard at their position.

Malfoy swallowed again, his eyes going wide as his eyes dropped to Harry’s shorts and back up to Harry’s face again. Harry was pretty sure he wasn’t breathing when the whistle blew as he and Malfoy continued to stare at each other. Malfoy bit his lip and Harry’s own eyes flicked of their own will to Malfoy’s bulge in the joggers again.

This was mad. This was mental. This was—

“Gold stars for everyone today! Fantastic effort! You were all cooking with gas! Go shower and I’ll see you next week for Badminton!”

“I’ll see you around,” Harry said stupidly, scrambling to his feet and disappearing off after his friends, Gryffindor bravery be damned.

Collapsing onto the benches, Harry made weak excuses to his friends that he would shower in a bit and he just wanted to check he hadn’t buggered his ankle when he fell. He was still sat there when they left and Ron cast him a knowing look. Harry didn’t want to know what Ron thought he was waiting for.

He was not getting into the shower to wank over Malfoy. He was not that pathetic. He was absolutely not that pathetic.

Harry _was_ that pathetic. He dropped his head into his hands and groaned. What was happening to him? This was Draco Malfoy he was thinking about. Draco Malfoy who—

“Potter.”

Draco Malfoy who was standing right in front of him. Still wearing _joggers._

“Malfoy, these are the Gryffindor changing rooms,” Harry said stupidly. Why did he say so many stupid things?

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Your powers of observation astound me yet again.”

“I mean why are you here?”

Malfoy flushed, his hair had nearly all fallen loose from the top-knot. Harry liked how it looked loose. “What you said earlier?”

“What I said earlier?” Harry frowned.

Malfoy scowled. “Don’t make me spell it out for you.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

Malfoy’s blush spread. Harry wondered if Malfoy blushed all over. “Broom skills,” Malfoy mumbled, “One-on-one.”

Harry’s jaw hit the floor. “Oh.”

Malfoy swallowed. “If you were just joking, I can leave but you didn’t seem to be joking.” Malfoy’s eyes flicked to Harry’s crotch and it was Harry’s turn to blush. Malfoy had definitely felt Harry growing hard against him then.

Harry shook his head dumbly. “I wasn’t joking.”

“Good.”

And then Harry was moving and Draco was moving and their mouths collided violently because there was nothing soft about the pair of them. They were explosive and magnetic and had been orbiting each other from the second they met.

The kiss felt like a release, it felt inevitable. It was maddening and all-consuming as Harry moaned into Malfoy’s mouth. Malfoy’s warm, wet mouth.

Harry pulled Malfoy closer towards him, sliding his hands onto Malfoy’s narrow hips. Malfoy tangled his hands in Harry’s hair, tugging at it viciously.

Harry nipped at Malfoy’s bottom lip and slipped his tongue in, the silky feel of Malfoy’s own tongue driving him insane. Harry was growing hard again, but he didn’t care because he could feel Malfoy’s own erection pressed into his thigh.

Pushing Malfoy back softly and letting out a groan as Malfoy promptly attached his needy mouth to Harry’s neck, Harry grabbed his wand and locked the door. He was not having anyone walk in on them.

Harry ran his hand across the waistband of Draco’s grey joggers, “These have been driving me insane all day,” he murmured, tilting his head back as Draco’s mouth continued its onslaught. “Fucking hell, Malfoy.”

Malfoy chuckled, his teeth scraping against Harry’s skin. “Not so bad yourself.”

“Even in my shorts?” Harry teased, hands slipping around and grabbing that pert arse that had been on his mind all day.

“I like your shorts.” Malfoy shrugged, pulling back, his pink lips swollen and slick with spit. It was a fucking sight.

“You said you hated them?”

“Your knees are distracting.”

“My knees are knobbly.” But Malfoy flushed and sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. Harry said with a smile, “You like my knees!”

“I’d like you better on them.”

Harry grinned and pulled Malfoy in for another desperate kiss, grinding their hips together. What was he meant to say to a line like that?

Harry sunk to his knees and swallowed, taking in the sight of Draco above him, wide eyed and panting.

“Oh,” was all Malfoy managed to say and Harry smiled, his heart fluttering in his chest. Leaving Draco Malfoy speechless was a feat not many managed.

“Oh,” Harry repeated, leaning forward and dragging his mouth across the bulge in those grey joggers. It was maddening.

“Oh,” Malfoy parroted as he twisted those long fingers in Harry’s hair again.

Harry smirked, sliding his hands up Malfoy’s thighs and around to squeeze that amazing arse as he continued to run his mouth over Malfoy’s clothed cock.

“Stop teasing,” Malfoy whined.

Harry glanced up and raised his brows. “Bossy.”

Malfoy growled and jerked his hips. Harry removed one hand from Malfoy’s arse to palm himself as he gazed up at Malfoy, watching Malfoy’s mouth fall open. Watching that open vulnerability he had never seen on Malfoy’s face before. Harry wondered what he looked like.

“Potter,” Malfoy hissed as Harry kissed the bulge, “Please.”

Harry swallowed and tugged down those fucking joggers with a desperation he didn’t know he was capable of. Malfoy’s hard and leaking cock sprung loose and Harry stared at it before turning back up to Malfoy.

“You were going commando!”

Malfoy smirked, “Boxers ruined the line of the joggers.”

“You fucking—” Harry started, shaking his head in amusement and pressing a kiss to Malfoy’s pale inner thigh and relishing the wracked shudder he felt rush through Malfoy. He pressed another kiss slightly higher up and again and again until he was level with Malfoy’s cock. Then, making sure he had Malfoy’s eyes, Harry licked a long, wet strip up Malfoy’s cock and ran his tongue around the head.

Harry had discovered he rather enjoyed sucking cock over the summer and had ended up hooking up with Terry Boot and Justin Finch-Fletchley, but neither of them were anything like Malfoy. Malfoy, who had driven Harry mad from the moment they met. Malfoy, who could get under Harry’s skin like no one else.

Swallowing Malfoy down, Harry hollowed his cheeks and started to work up and down, letting Malfoy thrust gently into his mouth. Harry moaned around Malfoy’s cock as Malfoy let out a string of expletives so filthy that Harry had to count to ten to stop himself coming untouched on the spot.

His glasses dug into his nose painfully as Malfoy gave a harder thrust, hitting the back of Harry’s throat and causing Harry to gag. His eyes watered but he kept going.

Eventually, Harry pulled back, smiling at Malfoy’s whine of protest and pocketed his glasses before taking Malfoy in his mouth again. He kept working his mouth and tongue as he gripped Malfoy’s arse, until Malfoy was a babbling mess above him, hips jerking into Harry’s mouth.

“Fuck Potter, I’m close!” Malfoy gasped.

Harry took one of Malfoy’s balls and then the other in his mouth before kissing up Malfoy’s cock. “Harry. If I’m sucking your cock, you’re calling me Harry.”

“You’re joking,” Malfoy spluttered.

Harry shook his head and flicked his tongue over the head and gazed up at Malfoy, taking the moment to catch his breath.

Malfoy let out a soft laugh, “You’re not joking.” Malfoy bit his lip and smiled, “Okay, Harry.”

Harry grinned and swallowed Malfoy back down and kept sucking as Malfoy repeated his name over and over like it was a prayer. _Harry. Harry. Harry._

When Malfoy finally came, Harry swallowed down as much of it as he could and pulled off with an audible pop, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and pulling his glasses back on.

“Fuck, Malfoy,” Harry murmured once he could see how hot Malfoy looked post-orgasm. His bottom lip was red with teeth marks, his skin flushed and his cock spent, nestled against blonde curls.

“Draco,” Malfoy managed to smirk, his eyes fluttering open. “If you’re going to suck my cock, you’re calling me Draco.”

Harry nodded. “Okay, Draco.” He stood up, knobbly knees complaining in protest and pulled Malfoy—Draco—in for a kiss. Draco kissed him back, tongue plunging into Harry’s mouth greedily as one of his hands snaked lower and over Harry’s own clothed erection.

Harry bucked his hips into Malfoy’s hand, “Please, Draco.”

Draco siezed Harry’s mouth again in a bruising kiss, slipping his hand under the shorts and into Harry’s boxers. Harry nearly died at the first touch of Draco’s hand on his bare cock. It was too much and yet not enough, he wanted more. Draco whispered something Harry didn’t quite catch into the kiss and Harry shuddered at the cold feeling of lube as Draco began to work his hand up and down Harry’s length.

Between the fact Harry had been going insane for the last hour and the fact it was Draco Malfoy giving Harry a hand job, Harry didn’t last long and with only a few tugs from Draco’s long flingers, he was coming over Draco’s hand, burying his head into the nook of Draco’s shoulder and biting down to stop himself crying out.

Draco made a low appreciative sound and pressed a kiss to Harry’s mouth before stepping back.

“So,” Harry swallowed, trying not to stare at the obscenely hot sight of his come dripping from Draco’s hand.

“So,” Draco repeated before smirking. “I guess the joggers were a good choice.”

Harry nodded. “To say the least. Maybe I’ll have to get some.”

Draco’s mouth curled into a wicked smile. “Now I wouldn’t say no to that,” he drawled before kissing Harry again.

Harry wasn’t sure he would ever love another item of clothing as much as he loved joggers in that moment.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A shout out to the Drarry Discord for inspiring bits of this (Harry's knobbly knees, Draco's trainers and Blaise's stripping of the snap joggers) and helping me out with all my 90's fashion questions!!  
> If you want to chat come find me on tumblr [@gracie137blogs](http://gracie137blogs.tumblr.com)
> 
> and all kudos/comments are christmas come early!!


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